Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare
by Master of the Boot
Summary: Edward and Jasper were happily married until Jasper was murdered. Now merely a shell of the man he used to be, Edward tries to heal as Halloween nears. But on all Hallow's Eve, Edward is about to learn that true love never dies and neither does true evil
1. The Death of Love

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Chapter one: The Death of love

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Metal gear. This story contains themes of grief, loss and homosexuality. I think that homosexuality is not a bad thing and should be accepted in society; so religious fanatics watch out. Homophobes should hit the back button.

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><p><em>Three days before Halloween Night<em>

Edward Cullen-Whitlock sat in his house, utterly alone. Jasper was dead as Jacob Marley. It was an undisputable fact, immutable and unchanging

Jasper was dead and nothing would bring him back. Edward Cullen-Whitlock was more alone than he'd ever been; once he'd been cold, arrogant and lived for nothing but pathetic, fleeting pleasures. He had no friends and no acquaintances except the greasy Greek tough guy Peter.

But Jasper was dead and because of it, Edward was alone. Before he merely chose not to have friends but now he was incapable of such a thing. There was a giant bleeding hole in his chest and it wouldn't heal.

Edward Cullen-Whitlock was alone and at first the only way he could deal with the death of his dead husband was to drink obscene amounts of gin and tea.

Naturally everyone had a fit about that—Jasper was still dead—but they gave a rat's ass about Edward's new alcohol and tea problem. Maybe they had less of a problem with the tea.

Edward's father was a Doctor and his mom was a member of an anti-drunken driving organization so naturally they raised a huge parent fit when they found out their son was going through a bottle of gin a day.

Edward might have been drunk off his ass twenty four hours a day but at least when he was drunk he could still do his work as a photographer. Being drunk and stoned all the time didn't stop Mexican assassins so it didn't stop Edward with his job.

So with a lot of kicking and screaming and moments that he dimly knew he'd regret, Edward gave up the gin and just started drinking obscene amounts of tea to sooth his bleeding, damaged soul.

So, with a cup of steaming hot tea in his hands, Edward listened to his friend Peter try to cheer him up and bring him out of the depression he'd been in for nearly a year.

Peter was an interesting fellow; the son of two Greek immigrants, he was a rough and tough bad boy with a bad attitude. He was old school, was Peter Costas; with his greasy hair, gold chain, developed muscles and wife beater shirt he was truly a Greek Guido.

Him and his friends Sweet Kapoyanis and Dennis the Brute were some of the best bar fighters in the city. Despite being very different from the openly gay, coldly arrogant Edward there was a strong connection between the two men. Both of them shared a great disdain for humanity in general that was tempered by a soft nature within.

They just got their rocks off in different ways. Edward was once the most valued gay stud in the Seattle gay community. Men lined up for miles on end to be impaled on his cock; that was until demure Texan Jasper went in and tamed Edward. Lots of man lovers hated him for taking Edward out of commission.

Peter meanwhile loved to fight and fight; it didn't matter who he fought as long as glass was breaking, blood was flowing and teeth were rolling around on the floor like marbles. Good old Peter would happily kick the shit out of you in front of your wife and then steal the take home dinner you got from _Swiss Chalet _up the road.

So far nobody had tamed Peter yet and he and his pals continued to terrorize the Seattle bar scene.

Yet now Peter was showing off a kinder and gentler side of his personality that very few would ever see. He sat across from his friend Edward, who looked like hell's half acre. The once stylish gay man was gritty looking and unshaven; he was like a Noir detective without the will to live. The house was a mess and the tea didn't have so much as a twist of lemon in it.

Pete sat across from Edward at the kitchen table. You knew that things were bad with Edward because Peter was actually _holding Edward's hand!_ Peter never held another man's hand; he liked Edward as a friend but homosexuality creeped the fuck out of him.

"I'm telling you, Edward," Peter pitched to his friend, "You're going to love this guy."

Despite Peter's enthusiasm, Edward just looked blankly with eyes that hadn't seen sleep in seventy-two hours. The tea mug in his hands steamed.

Peter continued to describe the guy. "He's about eighteen years old—perfectly legal."

His one hand held Edward's hand while the other waved around animatedly in true Greek fashion, "The guy's from Poland and he's more than happy to be here in this country. I mean, he's fucking stoked to be here and he's so grateful."

Edward sighed. He knew that everyone meant well; everyone only wanted him to get better but wounds of the mind were much harder to heal than wounds of the flesh sometimes. He felt almost like a World War one soldier; he was fine physically but he was crippled mentally and it made him feel like a coward.

Oblivious to Edward's internal dilemma, Peter continued. "And I've never gone near any of that but from what I hear this Polish guy is a demon in the sack and he's totally clean—everybody says so."

Edward felt himself groan internally despite his constant grief. He knew that Peter wanted to help, but getting laid with an eighteen year old Polish boy hooker was definitely not the way to go at this stage in the game.

"And I talked to Sweet Kapoyanis's dad," Peter finished, "He says that this guy won't charge you a dime. That's pretty good since he normally charges at least five hundred a night"

Edward sat quiet in the table with a mug of steaming tea gradually cooling in front of him. His face was blank; a total mask.

Peter didn't like this. Edward was the type who knew how to shut himself off and seal his heart away from the whole world. In a way he admired that ability because Peter lacked it utterly; the problem was that this talent of Edward made it hard to know how to help. So Peter was just helping Edward the only he could think of—by getting him a Polish hooker boy with a tight ass.

It was what would make Peter happy—except Peter would have a girl.

Edward continued to stare right through Peter for some time. Absentmindedly, he pulled his free hand from Peter's gentle grip. His gaze shifted for a moment and he took a sip of his tea. He ignored the burning of the hot liquid; the pain made him feel alive and scalding chamomile tea was better than self-mutilation.

At last, Edward began to smirk though it did not reach his eyes. "Do you want to hear something funny, Peter?"

Peter came over with a look of apprehension. He honestly had no idea what Edward was going to say but he was fairly sure he wasn't going to like it one bit. Still, Edward was a friend and he had to hear him out. "Yeah, sure; let's hear it."

Edward gave a small, sad smile and put a hand to his cheek as he leaned on the tabletop. He seemed to become lost in the past, ensnared by a happier past.

Trapped in his memories, Edward began to tell a story to his macho friend. "Two days ago I was out shopping for groceries."

Peter nodded as Edward trailed off. An awkward pause followed before the story resumed.

"Anyway," Edward continued, "I was out buying cheese and I found this one type of cheddar that I'm very partial to."

Peter honestly had no idea where this was going; he was just waiting for the inevitable train wreck.

"So I went home and I started to put away my groceries," Edward took a sip of his tea and lay the cup back down. "Then I was hungry and I felt the need to make myself a sandwich."

"Yeah, sure," said Peter, who was by now way out of his depth in terms of the comfort department.

Edward went on with his seemingly bland story, "So I got out the bread, which was a little stale and a bit mouldy, and I got out the mustard and then when I had all I needed I realized I needed a butter knife."

As Edward rambled, Peter just blinked; his face becoming an unreadable mask of "Oh, Christ on a stick!"

"So I finally got the butter knife to but the bread because my break knife was rusty," Edward sucked in a rasping, deep breath as if about to burst into tear. "Then I opened the package of cheese and it smelled just like Jasper's crotch." Edward's green eyes glistened with tears and turned red from grief that was still raw, "And then I cried and cried for an hour until I became dehydrated." His lower lip trembled and Peter's mind went completely blank.

The macho Greek just stared at Edward with a look of utter, unimaginable, hellish incredulity belonging to man who's heard way too much and then was forced to hear some more.

As Peter stood still as a shell-shocked war veteran, Edward's shoulders and chest began to shake; but he was not crying.

No, Edward was laughing hysterically and mechanically as if he had no more tears left to shed. His high, tittering laughter was so unlike any kind of laughter the man had ever uttered before.

After only a few seconds of hearing Edward's high pitched, desperate laughter, he'd had enough.

"I'm going to the liquor store," said Peter in a monotone. He stood up and pushed his chair back in. "You want anything?"

"Gin!" Edward choked out between laughs.

Peter walked out the door and closed it without saying goodbye, he'd return with hard alcohol before long. As he ran towards his car and sped out of Edward's driveway in ways that were both illegal and unsafe, he pulled out his cell phone and made a call to Edward's parents. They could handle this and keep the guy from offing himself.

Peter sped down the road, cutting across two lanes of traffic and losing a hubcap while he was at it.

Meanwhile, Edward was still laughing hysterically. Nearly choking himself, he stood up shakily to go and brew another pot of tea. As he stumbled in his laughing frenzy, Edward accidently walked into the kitchen door, which had been open and was facing Edward at a perpendicular angle.

"Ow!" Edward squeaked as he walked into the unyielding door.

The whole room seemed to spin around Edward and his feet seemed to be stepping on ice.

He had no idea how it happened, but in a nanosecond of time, Edward found himself slamming down onto the kitchen floor and darkness took him.

As he fell into unconsciousness, images began to play across his eyelids like a grainy black and white movie.

_He saw footage of himself and Jasper, smiling and holding hands. _

"No," Edward whispered as the image of him and his true love flickered.

The black and white image shifted.

_Edward and Jasper were still there but between frames something had moved into the picture_.

"Please," Edward begged, unwilling to relive the death of Jasper again.

_The strange shape moved in, while dream Jasper and Edward were oblivious. _

"Not again," Edward croaked pitifully.

_From behind the two, the shape had finally materialized. The footage only seemed to become grainer. _

Edward whimpered pitifully, unable to move or stop it. It was the sheerest torture ever conceived; having a rusty nail shoved into his urethra must be a joy compared to watching his lover's death over and over.

_The twisted and ancient figure of Revolver Ocelot appeared with a psychotic grin with a million white teeth. Ocelot began to move, while Jasper and Edward were as still as a slideshow. _

Edward's whimpering became louder and more pitiful.

_Ocelot said nothing as he looked straight into Edward's eyes. He stuck out a long, forked tongue like a snake and leered. _

_Then with his trademark single action Colt Army, he spun it around his finger, pulled back the hammer, took aim and—_

Then Edward truly fell unconscious and knew nothing else. Thank heaven for small mercies.

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><p>And here is a Halloween spinoff of my Story Over the top: Terror on Gay Street :D<p>

I had such fun doing Terror on Gay Street so I just had to continue. Here in this story, Jasper is dead and Ocelot killed him. In the next chapter, the circumstances of Jasper's death will be revealed by flashback.

Until then have a happy Halloween :D


	2. The Hoover Dam

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Disclaimer: I do not own any trademarked characters. This is not for profit.

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><p>Chapter Two: Damn dam<p>

_One year ago, The hoover dam_

_Originally, Edward had wanted to visit Texas, specifically Jasper's hometown of Austin. However Jasper had a few complaints with that. Among them was the fact that they'd already visited Austin during their honeymoon and spent many sexy nights there. _

_Edward and Jasper had been married for two years now and this was their second wedding anniversary. They wanted to do something really special this year and so they decided to visit the hoover dam, one of America's famous landmarks. _

_There was some arguing over where to go but in the end, Jasper won the debate. Edward cried foul because Jasper's sweet lips caused his higher brain function to take over but Jasper replied that it was even because Edward's warm smile melted his heart. _

_So they saw the Hoover dam, but Edward wasn't overly interested in the giant structure. His eyes were always on the cute blonde that he married. _

_It didn't take long for everything to go wrong. _

_At first everything had been fire, they'd been young and in love; then Revolver Ocelot had to ruin it all. _

_Though they didn't know what his real name was, Revolver Ocelot was a former special forces operative and KGB agent with a penchant for theatricality and rape. The crazy old man went around permanently dressed like a Russian cowboy; lord knows where the man first picked up his strange Western obsession. _

_It was two years ago that the sadistic, monologue loving Russian had cornered Jasper and Edward in Seattle and tried to rape both of them. Luckily the evil old man was foiled in a giant battle that destroyed most of the city. _

_The two of them were attending the tour of the dam when they saw an old man in cowboy duds who was hiding his face behind a newspaper. _

_Jasper and Edward wanted to scream and shout for the tour group to leave; this was a dangerous madman on the loose. _

_Before either of them could raise a peep, Ocelot pressed a button on the detonator he'd been holding in his hand. On cue, the roof exploded thanks to a series of pre-laid explosive charges that Ocelot had been careful to set up in advance. _

_As an old spy, Ocelot knew how to lay a trap even if he did like to monologue for nearly two hours before the trap was set. _

_People screamed as concrete was blown to bits and tons of the stuff came crashing down. Some shouted and ran while others were crushed under the rubble. Edward was nearly killed by a falling metal support beam. _

_Ocelot didn't mean to kill them this early in the game but he wanted to scare them and it had to be a tangible scare. Even a fake assassination attempt needs to look legitimate. _

_Ocelot merely smiled while his prey choked on concrete dust and stumbled away from him. Grinning like a hunter, Ocelot's long silver hair and pointed moustache glistened. Into his coat he reached for his single action Colt Army revolver. It was the greatest gun ever invented. _

_Spinning his gun like Yule Brenner, Ocelot went after the two lost boys. _

_Jasper and Edward tried to run with their eyes stinging from the dust and acridic smoke left behind by the explosive device. Their eyes also stung with tears of injustice. They always feared that the madman would return one day to take away their happiness. _

_They went out armed always but it was Jasper who was the one that was good at not worrying. Edward's gut was always in a knot for fear that either Alexander Anderson or Ocelot would return one day but at the same time he fed off his mat's surety and steadfastness. _

_Either of them could die tomorrow from a bus crash or cancer, Jasper always said. He was always much braver than Edward; Ed knew how to have fun but his husband was the one who knew how to live. Edward was willing to bet that Jasper wasn't afraid of anything. _

_From under his coat, Jasper pulled out a compact pistol. Since nearly being raped and killed by a pack of psychos both of the men were now licensed gun carriers. However, coming from the lone star state did nothing for Jasper against Revolver Ocelot's almost magic marksmanship. _

_A revolver shot thundered and blasted the pistol right from Jasper's hand. His fingers stung from the impact. _

_Reacting to protect his mate, Edward pulled out a concealed carry pistol of his own and fired back at their enemy; but Ocelot was like a ghost. For all his flamboyant and un-spy like ways Revolver Ocelot knew perfectly how to be where the bullets weren't. _

_Ducking behind cover and popping out again, Ocelot pulled back the hammer with his thumb and fired. _

_Unconsciously, the Russian clenched his right hand. Ever since he'd had his arm reattached after it'd been cut off the darn thing didn't feel like it used to; hence the old man's reason for shooting with his left hand. _

_Jasper felt numb as something like a freight train hit him .All the strength left his legs and the Texan hit the floor. His hearing left him and time seemed to slow down. The only thing that seemed real was the feel of Edward's hand holding his and the blood that was running down the gunshot wound he'd taken. _

_Edward screamed and begged for Jasper to come along. It was then that Jasper was truly afraid and then that he made the hardest choice he'd ever made. _

_The sound of Edward firing his gun back at Ocelot made Jasper flinch, breaking him out of his small bubble of time and space. _

_With iron hands, he grabbed Edward by the shirt and whispered to him, "Leave me." _

_Edward screamed. Edward cried and begged like a bum for Jasper to come with him but Jasper just set his mouth into a hard expression and punched Edward in the face. _

_Edward fell back, bleeding slightly from the mouth. He turned around, aware of a gunshot wound that would have hit him if Jasper hadn't have punched him in the face and knocked him down. _

_Jasper looked at Edward with a face that was a twisted theatre mask of grief and emotional agony. "Please," he said in a small voice, "Save yourself, for me." _

_The world is a scary place and Jasper and Edward had never felt so helpless and small; and that was saying something since two years ago a crazy Scottish madman had tried to put Jasper through a wood chipper. _

_And Edward fled, because he was afraid; but most of all he was afraid because Jasper was afraid and that scared him more than death. _

_As Jasper bled and bled, a second gunshot hit him and knocked him to the ground like a kick. _

_As he tried to crawl forward, he heard the sound of cowboy boots and spurs walking towards him. _

_Without warning his field of vision was suddenly filled with Revolver Ocelot's devilishly handsome visage. _

_It hurt Jasper almost as badly as a gunshot how handsome Ocelot was. His moustache was waxed to perfection and glinted in the light. His silver hair was long and thick as a twenty year old's. His hawkish features spoke of wisdom and hardness; the man had steel in his soul. _

_The man also had poison in his heart; lurking inside that handsome Russian form was a hideous monster who delighted in rape and torture and betrayed his allies at the drop of a hat. _

_Grinning like the devil, Ocelot patted Jasper on the cheek and positively oozed glee. "Don't go anywhere, princess; I've got to deal with your wife first." _

_Then the old man was gone by the tell-tale sign of his well-worn high quality cowboy boots. _

_It took Jasper no time at all to realize what he'd done. Instead of making a last, desperate sacrifice for his mate, he'd gone and offered to Edward on a silver platter. _

_Sacrifice indeed; more like an act of ultimate stupidity. The realization struck Jasper like a bath of boiling oil. No torment on earth could be worse. _

_Edward ran with his gun in his hand, but he did not run as fast as he could have. Much as he wanted to escape, leaving without Jasper was not an option. _

_He never liked to go against his precious love's wishes but this was one time he'd have to go against the grain. _

_Breathing in, Edward began to psych up himself like a boxer before a match. Holding his nine millimetre pistol in his hand, he began to mentally go over all the gun's operational specifications and requirements. _

_Action movie aficionados might scoff at the old nine millimetre gun, but guns like that can carry more ammo and are easier to aim. With a honking big .44 magnum, you can kill a guy with one hit but you cannot afford to miss due to the heavy recoil and massive weight of the gun. _

_From the smoke of the explosions came Ocelot, like a wraith from the moor. His arms were spread wide and there was something in his hand but it wasn't a gun. Edward couldn't quite make out what it was. _

_The old man was grinning as if he didn't have a care in the world; as if he was daring Edward to shoot him. _

_Edward became furious. He would show the old man that he wasn't helpless. He was going to blow that old man's nose right through the back of his head. He raised his gun and drew a bead right on Ocelot's head; just as Ocelot was expecting. _

_With a press of a button on his detonator, Ocelot caused the entire concrete wall behind Edward to blast apart. _

_In front of Edward, the whole world went black as the explosion overloaded the light receptors in his eyes. Likewise the boom threw his ears into chaos and made them ring like telephones. _

_Edward lay on the ground, bleeding and stuck in his own little bubble. Now, he was trapped in this bubble, unable to save Jasper. He couldn't hear, see or move; he was helpless no matter how he wished otherwise. _

_It was then that Edward began to slowly grope for his weapon as his senses returned to him—just in time for him to see the very devil on earth. _

_Edward grunted with pain as a fine leather cowboy boot slammed down onto his hand. _

_In the blink of an eye, Ocelot had grabbed Edward by the throat and lifted him up. Despite his advanced years, the old man was still strong as a steel spring and as lean as lean ground beef. _

_Edward just looked at Ocelot with furious impotence. He sputtered but could not say a word for his brain was still fuzzy from the explosion. _

_Dimly, the young man was aware of the cool breeze behind him from the giant hole. His injured ears could pick up the sound of the dam's rushing waters hundreds of feet below them. _

_In a futile gesture, Edward tried to grab Ocelot's hand and try to break a finger or two, but the old gunslinger was far too wily for that. With blinding speed, he brought up his revolver and pointed it at Edward's head. _

_A lethal click warned Edward that the old man was read to do death's business. _

_To Edward's surprise though, Ocelot did not monologue but instead went right to the point. _

"_Jasper isn't dead," rasped Ocelot in his rough, tobacco coarsened voice, "but he will be soon if he doesn't get medical attention." _

_Ocelot drank it in as he saw the emotions play across Edward's face. Revolver Ocelot would never know what it would be like to have one's true love laid bleeding and dying on the ground. He would never know because Ocelot isn't the man who fears the knock on the door from an approaching assassin; he is the one who knocks. _

_The old man licked his lips with anticipation, with a shove; he thrust Edward back until the younger man was almost falling out of the giant hole in the wall. The breeze felt cold, there was a rare rain here in these parts and it was turning the weather cold. _

"_Now boy," Ocelot gloated, "I need you to do something for me." _

_Edward stared coldly at the old man; Jasper was all he could think of. _

_Ocelot held out his revolver until the barrel was almost touching Edward's mouth, "I want you to suck on the barrel of this fine gun like you suck on your boy toy's little rod." _

_Through the layers of grief and helplessness, Edward felt powerful indignation; Jasper wasn't small, not in the manly department. If he could have this way, he'd make that sick old man blow him and then he'd chop the bastard's head off. _

_If only. _

_Ocelot explained himself to Edward, for he would not be denied this chance to humiliate an enemy. His original plan called for him to make Jasper and Edward dig their own graves but he liked this better. "I've got a two minute window to escape the dam before police arrive," the old man's cold, intense eyes narrowed, "If Jasper is to survive, someone will have to call an ambulance; I shot him in the renal artery." _

"_I used a low yield bullet for that shot and the bullet is stuck in the artery; he won't die right away but he's dying, slow but sure." _

_Just hearing all of this made Edward want to vomit. That anyone could do that to someone as sweet and ethical as Jasper was just horrifying. _

"_So," Ocelot concluded, "Suck on the barrel of this gun and I promise you that I will call for medical aid for your pretty Jasper." His laugh lines stood out as if he found the whole situation amusing. _

"_Yes," Ocelot cooed in a childish tone, "Just suck on this gun until it comes and I'll spare your lover." _

_Edward did nothing. _

_Edward said nothing. _

_Revolver Ocelot watched his victim, fully hoping and expecting that he'd degrade himself like Ocelot wanted it. _

"_I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!" the old man roared, his cool façade finally breaking and revealing the snarling beast underneath, "I SWEAR IT!" _

_As he howled like a stark raving animal, spit flew from his mouth and his lips curled back; revealing two rows of teeth yellowed by years of tobacco smoking. _

"_I'm not kidding," the old man whispered in a deadly voice, "I'll go over there and put a bullet right between his eyes so that he can see it was me who killed him; unless you suck on the barrel of this gun like it's a cock." _

_Finally, slowly, reluctantly, Edward began to lean forward, towards the barrel of the Colt single action. Despite the threat, the almost couldn't bring himself to suck on the cold lifeless steel. The smell of cordite was making his stomach turn. _

_Ocelot watched as Edward opened his mouth and began to move to start sucking on the gun. The old man chuckled and put on his most charming smile. _

"_Perfect," the old spy uttered with Satisfaction as Edward sucked the barrel of the gun into his mouth with all the joy of a death row inmate watching the switch on the electric chair being flipped. _

_Ocelot's finger began to tighten on the trigger when something happened. _

_Something-or rather someone had slammed into Ocelot and Edward, knocking them aside. _

_It was Jasper! Bleeding wounded and even dying, he'd used the last of his energy to chase after Ocelot and knock him off his love. _

_Ocelot felt Jasper slam into his, causing the gun barrel to pull abruptly form Edward's mouth and Ocelot to fire his gun into the air. _

_Jasper tackled Ocelot like he was playing high school football. _

_Throwing an elbow at Jasper, Ocelot managed to knock Jasper off him and into the giant hole in the wall that lead to nothing but sure death by falling into the water below. _

_The forward momentum took Jasper right out of that hole but as he fell, he grabbed the nearest thing he could—Revolver Ocelot's long trench coat. _

_Ocelot's eyes bulged as he felt Jasper grab onto his coat. His boots slid across the concrete floor until his heels were less than an inch from the ledge and a fatal fall into the churning waters of the hoover dam. _

_Wildly, the old man swung his arms as he inevitably felt himself being pulled backwards by Jasper's weight. _

_Suddenly, Edward's slender hand shot out and grabbed Ocelot by the blue ascott. Not because he wanted to save the old assassin but because Jasper was hanging from Ocelot's coat. _

_His memories of that specific moment were hazy. All Edward could remember was hearing Jasper screaming for him to run, Ocelot's bulging eyes as the ascot choked him and the total lack of any sound whatsoever when he let go and both Ocelot and Jasper plunged to their deaths. _

_The police scoured the waters and all they found was Ocelot's drowned corpse. Jasper's body was never found. _

_And in all that time, Edward blamed himself for Jasper's death. _

_Present Day: Two days before Halloween_

Edward woke with a start. A scream heralded that he'd been having a nightmare, but the nightmare was over. Now he could go to his waking nightmare.

Breathing heavily, Edward leaned back and realized he wasn't at home anymore. He was lying in a bed with pristine white sheets and a clean white nightshirt.

The Cullen boy looked down at himself and his white nightshirt. Where the hell was he and how did he get here?

Those questions were answered when a high pitched female voice shrieked loud enough to make Edward's ears ring.

"HE'S AWAKE!" little Alice Cullen shrieked as loud as he diminutive lungs would allow.

There was no respite for Edward as his short, barely four foot tall sister ran up to him from where she'd been sitting on the side of the bed and started punching him.

Edward shouted in shock as Alice's little fists of fury struck him in the shoulder and head.

"You mean, selfish fairy!" Alice shouted as she continued to bash her brother, "We thought you were dead!"

Under the barrage of tiny fists, Edward finally understood what she was getting at. He'd been telling Peter about how some cheese he bought smelled like Jasper's crotch and then he walked headfirst into a perpendicular door and knocked himself out.

As Edward cried out under Alice's gentle beating, Peter came into the room.

At last! Someone who could help.

"Peter!" came a shout from Edward, "Give me a fucking hand!"

Taking his sweet time, Peter slowly walked up to Alice and lifted her up; putting the small woman under his arm like a suitcase.

Kicking her legs and thrashing her arms ineffectively, Alice began to claw at Peter like a cat, "Let me go, you big lug!"

Peter paid no mind to Alice's feeble strikes. Instead, he wound up and punched Edward in the shoulder.

"AH!" Edward cried out and hugged his shoulder. It felt like Peter had hit him hard enough to cause a dislocation, "What the fuck was that for?"

Peter shrugged and ignored Alice's caterwauling, "It was for love." Then he punched Edward in the same shoulder again, but not as hard. This caused the Greek man to smirk, "And that was just for the hell of it."

Alice's yowling must have certainly be heard because at that moment, what seemed like Edward's entire family walked into the room. There was his parents and even Rosalie, Jasper's sister; and her husband Emmett.

Oh God, he was at his parent's house!

At the sight of his family showing up, Edward suddenly froze; like a deer in headlights. He was a proud man and even though with Jasper's help he'd mended his torn relationship with his parents, it still was uncomfortable to be seen in just a nightshirt.

Absentmindedly, Edward felt his head and winced as he touched a spot on his forehead; he must have hit that door petty hard. God, it was so embarrassing to bruise in a place like that.

Everyone was looking at Edward with unreadable expressions. Then Edward saw his father, Carlisle. His father's eyes were red and puffy; he'd been crying. Esme was there holding up Carlisle as if he'd fall at any moment.

Seeing his father in such a sad state hit Edward like a punch in the gut. He never wanted to see his father like this.

Carlisle looked at his son with the eyes of a father who truly loves; his voice was strained and cracked from hours of crying. Without Esme's support he surely would have shrivelled and died. "Son, you're alright."

The Cullen father tried to smile but the sadness didn't go away. He was sad because his son had been hurt in an unimaginable way. He was sad because there seemed to be nothing he could do to heal his son's hurt; no band aid that could be applied or hug that could heal it. He was sad mostly because he just couldn't protect his son the way he used to be able to.

Cradling her husband, Esme spoke to her boy, "Edward, you know we are all here for you. If you want to talk or have a shoulder to cry on we, all of us are here."

Behind her, Rosalie and Emmett nodded; their eyes were full of compassion. Even the normally boisterous Emmett couldn't find anything to say. Alice snuck over to her parent's side in a display of family solidarity.

The only one who was immune to the grief was the emotionally blunt Peter. Edward was alive, so what the fuck was everyone so sad about?

"We thought you had died," Alice said, holding onto her anger so she wouldn't burst out crying. "You didn't answer any of our phone calls and when we found you on the floor of your house we assumed the worst."

Edward watched horrified as his father burst out, "Son, we love you," and he went to hug his boy. Rosalie, Emmett and everyone else except Peter rushed in for a group hug.

Edward was instantly overwhelmed. He didn't deserve this kind of love; he'd caused Jasper's death and now his grief was tormenting his family.

"Thank you all," came Edward's weak voice; it was all he could muster for no words could express how lucky he was to have these people.

Then slowly, reluctantly, everyone pulled away from the warm embrace of the hug.

Clearing her throat, Esme explained something to her son. "Peter is going to be staying with you for the Halloween weekend."

This didn't register with Edward's mind. "What?"

"I paid Peter a hundred bucks to stay with you in case you try to kill yourself."

Edward stopped, suddenly his headache was increasing and his mother's plotting was the cause of it. "Mom, I won't—

"It's just a precaution, Edward," Esme cut him off; "Almost every suicide victim gave no indication that he was going to kill himself."

Still, Edward couldn't believe his mom though so low of him, "Mom, this is bullshit. I'm not going to kill myself."

"I know sweetie," Esme said with sad eyes, "I know."

Then Esme's expression hardened and she turned to Peter, "There's a tool box under the bathroom sink, Peter; take it with you, there's a crowbar in there. If Edward tries to hang himself with the bed sheets break both his arms."

Peter saluted Esme; getting paid to break someone's arms was awesome! "Yes mam."

Edward was hoping that he'd wake up from this nightmare. "Peter, you're not really going to stay with me, are you?"

Peter laughed, "Sorry man, but its a hundred bucks." The man stopped momentarily and thought of something, "Oh, my dad might drop by so could you try to act straight? The old man would shit a chicken if he knew my best friend was gay. I've been telling him that your wife Jennifer died."

Edward groaned. This was going to be the worst Halloween ever.

_Cemetery, unknown location, two days before Halloween_

It was a dark and stormy night. All the devils of the earth and sky were begging to be broken free of the chains that held them so they could terrorize the living.

The rain that fell was poison, made acid by the exhaust fumes of industry and of the inherent sin of humankind. As this sin filled rain fell down from the sky, grass withered and trees shivered before it. It crumbled stone and made mortar break down.

In rundown, poorly maintained cemetery one tombstone stood out from the others. Instead of loving words commemorating the dead, only scorn was written on the granite block; mocking the dead instead of honouring them.

The headstone read, "_Adamska Voronov, 1945-2011. We are glad you are dead_."

Instead of a cross or Star of David or other religious symbol, there was a carving of a revolver on the top of the tombstone.

_CRACK!_

Lightning tore apart the sky.

_CRACK!_

Lightning struck again, even louder this time. From under the grave, a small sound could be heard, almost as if something were trying to get out.

_**CRACK!**_

The lightning struck within less than a kilometer of the cemetery. The noise was like a giant hammer cracking open an equally titanic lock. The thumping from underneath the grave was becoming louder and more persistent.

_**CRACK!**_

The lightning struck a tree inside the cemetery, incinerating the hundred year old oak in less than a second. As the tree fell, its scorched trunk threw off a red glow on the grave of Adamska Voronov.

The thumping from under the grave was impossible to ignore out. Something dead was coming back to life; something was escaping the world after to return to this one. Someone was alive!

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! _

Six gunshots tore apart the earth. Almost as if on cue, the rain stopped and the thunder and lightning with it.

Some seconds nothing happened.

That was when a bony, embalmed hand burst from the soil and punched into the dank, mouldy air of October. Clenched tightly in the dead, cold hand was a gun; a single action Colt Army pistol—the peacemaker, the greatest gun every made.

Revolver Ocelot had returned.

* * *

><p>And that is it for now :D This story will be my top priority for the time being but I love all of you who read and review ;) You all rock. And next chapter we get to see what happened to Jasper.<p>

Tune in next week to see Jasper's fate and see if Edward can survive the wrath of the newly risen Ocelot.

Ta

Master of the Boot


	3. Pregame Show

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Chapter 3: Pre game show

_Two days before Halloween, northern portion of Vancouver Island_

* * *

><p>Conquest demanded sacrifices and sacrifices demanded someone who had the stomach to cut the beating hearts out of living chests as the Aztecs had done before being brought down by the equally villainous Spaniards.<p>

This was nowhere near the grand cities of Mesoamerica and there were no Spaniards here. This was a wooded area on a Canadian Island discovered by Captain Vancouver many hundreds of years ago.

The site was of no importance strategically to the warring vampires. It was secluded from human eyes and the winner would receive uncontested feeding privileges until some other vampire group came along with the strength to challenge their claim.

Perhaps a more accurate view would be that the leader of this vampire group would get uncontested feeding rights. Everybody else would just have to wait their fucking turn.

During the daylight all animals and birds avoided the forest for the scent and aura of vampires drove them away in fear.

Night fell and the vampires attacked.

Sacrifices require executioners, a high priest to the gods of violence. That executioner was known as Major Jasper Whitlock and already he was making a reputation for himself. A brilliant strategist and better fighter, he was feared and respect; and if anybody knew what his life was really like they would never again dream of putting themselves in his shoes.

Night fell and the vampires attacked. The vast majority of them were newborns; very powerful and unstable; there was no need for any kind of training beyond simple moves that even a three year old could comprehend.

Jasper begged Maria to give those under his command some better training but she punished him for being sentimental.

Jasper had a plan and now it was shot to hell. Such was the nature of reality. Most military battles boiled down to luck and setting up one's self at the right place while one still had the ability to do so.

Jasper's army was winning but his second life could end at any moment. A newborn flew at him from behind; Jasper spun around, ducked the strike and decapitated the newborn with a clawed hand.

Though he was just barely a newborn himself Jasper was lucid thanks to being force-fed a diet of vampire hearts which like performance enhancing drugs, cleared his mind and caused him incredible pain and withdrawal like symptoms. When this battle would end, Jasper would be shaking and quivering like an addict.

Running through the trees like a predatory cat, Jasper barely resembled a human with his massive clawed hands, red eyes and ripping fangs.

A vampire, not a newborn grappled with him and sunk its fangs into his neck. Ignoring the pain through the adrenaline haze, Jasper gouged the vampire's eyes out and a newborn fell upon his enemy. \

Jasper pulled away, not really knowing or caring which side this newborn belonged to. They were such unpredictable creatures. After this battle, they'd all be exterminated and then Maria's full time crew would find new replacements for the next confrontation.

Vampire wars rarely reached this far south but vampires had been driven north by mass immigration by warlike vampires from West of the Ural Mountains; who had fled their home nations due to vampire wars in Asian Russia and Mongolia. Many vampires fled to the north for easier feeding.

It only lasted minutes but before the night was old many vampires were dead; their hearts torn out and consumed like a bad street drug. Some of the more inexperienced newborns would even overdose on vamp heart. None of them would eat the hearts like Jasper so they lacked his lucid mind.

Major Whitlock stopped and stood still, waiting for his commanding officer. He waited and waited for nearly twenty minutes before Maria appeared.

Immediately, the beautiful, female, Hispanic vampire started to look over the Major like he was a prize race horse.

"You've done well today, Major," she purred seductively. Jasper's expression was distant, as if focusing on an object far, far away.

Brushing against him, his distant expression took on a pained element.

"I need you to engage in mop-up operations," Maria explained, circling him like a shark circling an injured seal. "Leave no one alive and maybe you can lay with me."

Jasper said nothing; his hollow expression gave away nothing. He merely nodded; masters never needed consent from their dogs.

Maria looked over her property. When she saw Jasper fall bleeding and dying from the dam that day she knew he was the one; her own little guided missile. She needed someone who had steel in their soul but also someone who when push came to shove would lie back and take it for no other reason than it came from authority.

Kimbly had been promising at first; but the German serial killer thrived on chaos and happily bit the hand that fed him, spitting in Maria's face through the harshest punishment.

The Austrian boy Alfonse Heinrich too had promise, except his morals would not be bent, so Maria had him killed.

Jasper was the perfect one. He always won the fights because he cared less about his life than the other bastards did.

It was through love that Maria broke Jasper; through his love for his lost mate, Maria managed to transform a man into a dog.

Jasper turned to leave and kill the last survivors but Maria stopped him. "Are you forgetting something?" she asked playfully.

Bowing his head like a bad dog, Jasper waited for his master.

Gently and with much enjoyment, Maria put a metal dog collar on Jasper's neck. His name was even on it. _Major Whitlock_

If he ever forgot his place in life, the collar reminded him of everything. The collar reminded him that he didn't deserve to live.

If Edward could see him now, he would hate Jasper because Jasper was a freak; unworthy of love, a living abortion—an abomination. He was a killer; he killed to live and was kept alive so that he could kill more. Like a slave aboard a galley, he had no hope and no tomorrow. All he had was an endless series of killings.

He knew all of this to be true for Maria his master had beaten it into him through the most horrific tortures.

Yet as Jasper ran through the young night, his superior vampire vision spotted the glowing lights of Port Angeles across the deep blue sea, turned black by the night.

Port Angeles; intellectually he knew that beyond that was the city of Seattle-where Edward lived.

Jasper was afraid. He was afraid that he might be seen by his old love.

Yet beneath all the mental conditioning, underneath all the beatings and dehumanization; a small core of Jasper Whitlock-Cullen remained like a seed swamped in the flesh of a rotten apple.

Jasper wasn't afraid of anything; Edward's love gave him that bravery. And so despite how much it frightened him, despite how much he knew the punishment would hurt, he had to do this. He needed to travel to Seattle and give closure to himself and Edward.

He needed to say goodbye.

He needed to break up with Edward.

_Seattle, abandoned warehouse_

* * *

><p>Ocelot paced back and forth across the dust and dirt covered floor of the warehouse like a caged beast. It was two days to Halloween and there was so much to do but . . .<p>

Ocelot's teeth began to chatter as if he were cold, yet he could feel no cold or warm anymore.

As he paced back and forth aimlessly across the litter covered floor he began to babble incessantly in Russian; listing off half-baked plans, aspirations that he used to hold and other miscellaneous information which had no bearing on anything.

Suddenly, Ocelot stopped his pacing and held his arms to his side. Compulsively, he began to scratch his arm through the white sleeve of his new shirt even though he could not feel the scratching.

He knew when he was touching an object and he could do simple things like operate the pedals of a car but no longer could Ocelot sense texture or temperature or even pleasure or pain.

The warehouse was unlit, only the glow of a streetlight outside cast its artificial light inside. Ocelot's face and features were cast in darkness save for a flash of his eyes or a gnash of his now yellowed teeth.

In the darkened warehouse was a table and some chairs; cheap folding furniture that Ocelot had to murder to get. After being dead for a year, he'd found that all his possessions were auctioned off and his bank accounts emptied by family and lawyers. He'd make them all pay in time.

Sitting on top of the folding table was a clean set of clothes, as his death suit was a bit rancid. He had luckily kept a stash of clean cowboy duds in an old safe house that his damn sociopathic family hadn't found and looted. There in the safe house he found ammo, guns, clothes, money, cigarettes and booze.

The money he had was stuffed into a duffel bag and earned through a good living in human trafficking; murdering and kidnapping women from foreign countries who tried to misery and poverty in their own countries.

The booze and cigarettes were another matter entirely. Stumbling, almost shambling into the side of the table, Ocelot nearly knocked over the bottle of vodka.

Ripping off the lid hastily, Ocelot smelled the high alcohol beverage and began to suck it down.

He roared in anger however when he found that he could not taste that oh so awesome of Russian beverages. He threw the bottle and it shattered on the concrete, splashing vodka and broken glass over the corpse of a dead transient girl named Bree Tanner.

The cigarettes were similarly unsatisfying; they tasted like wet cement and he threw down the burning tobacco. The red glow of the cigarette flickered and burned down.

Absentmindedly, Ocelot began to scratch his arm. He could feel nothing—wait, he could feel something.

Decay.

He was rotting, slowly but inexorably.

Ocelot was decaying and he could feel it. The formaldehyde he injected into his cold veins arrested the process but could not reverse it nor take away this soul ripping, brain deadening need he was feeling.

Tomorrow was Halloween and Ocelot needed his wits to pull off this operation. Coming back from the dead had given him knowledge and he knew what he must do. Some of that knowledge was esoteric; Ocelot now possessed much in the way of knowledge of the spirits and evil things that live between the spaces of the three dimensions we know of.

Other kinds of knowledge he possessed was more instinctual. He knew what it was his new body craved; he just refused to realize it.

Then, Ocelot saw the corpse of Bree Tanner. Her dead body, shot through the heart, was lying in just such a way that her face was cast with a single square of light from outside. The rest of her was in darkness.

Ocelot stopped dead and froze as he focused on Bree's dead, gelatinous eyes. Yes, he knew what was good for him. He knew . . .

Ocelot let out a strange, inhuman laugh. His upper half was shrouded in darkness; his guns glinted in the street lamp's glare. Grabbing one of his guns with a twitching hand, he held the gun by the barrel and held it like a club.

Shambling over to Bree's corpse, Ocelot grabbed her face with one gloved hand. It was gentle, almost like a grandfather stroking the face of a beloved granddaughter.

Then utterly without mercy he brought down the butt of his gun and smashed into her skull. Bringing his gun back for another blow, Ocelot's breath came out in spastic hyperventilation.

When the butt of his gun was covered in the blood of an innocent, Ocelot went down with his gloved hands and tore off the top of Bree's skull.

Nearly squealing with glee, Ocelot took one look at Bree's beautiful, tender brain and knew what he really wanted.

Digging his fingers into the squishy organ, he scooped it up and pulled it towards his mouth.

In the darkness, the sounds of chewing could be heard; frantic, stark raving mad chewing of a hungry animal. Ocelot nearly moaned with pleasure he scooped up more and more of Bree's brain until nothing was left.

And when it was all done . . . by god, how he felt!

The brain had done the trick for him. He could feel new life flowing through him. It was bracing, it was invigorating and it was making him feel ALIVE!

Ocelot stood up—no, jolted up and stood in the light. In the uneven light of the street lamp, only a small section of his face was lit up; shadows covered the rest.

Only Ocelot's eyes and a little of his nose could be seen. In his eyes was the gleam of madness once restrained by cunning but now was set wild to run free.

He _knew_ what he was meant to do with this unlife of his. Slowly, his two dead eyes narrowed as his mind began to grow clear and sharp again.

Yes, he knew what he had to do. He'd escaped the fires of hell and now his mission was to bring hell to earth. He wasn't motivated to cause madness and destruction, madness and destruction were his motivation.

He wasn't a spy anymore; he was an architect and human bodies were his building material of choice.

Laughing maniacally, Ocelot laughed and laughed until his dead nerves almost, nearly began to ache. He laughed until he bent—nearly broke in half.

Snarling like the most primitive savage, the rawest primitive, Ocelot jumped onto the flimsy folding table and held his arms up high like a priest shouting to his flock of followers.

"THIS IS THE NIGHT OF THE ZOMBIE, SO RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" The old man howled at the top of his lungs.

He shouted it once more; that this was the night of the zombie and you need to run for your fucking life. He shouted it again in English, German, Russian and a few other languages he was fluent in.

Jumping off the flimsy table, the cheap furniture broke under Ocelot's eight but as he landed he felt as light as a feather.

Striking the concrete and rolling into a standing position, Ocelot felt like a million bucks.

Once more, his eyes were lit by the street lamp and nothing else. "Oh you'll pay, you weak mice," he whispered sadistically, "you'll all pay."

* * *

><p><em>Seattle, Edward's home<em>

Edward Cullen kneeled at the foot of his bed as his friend Peter used the washroom down the hall. As Peter happily brushed his teeth, Edward knelt in prayer.

He'd never really prayed in his life, none of his family ever had. Still, these were extraordinary times and Edward knew he had to do something. Religion had never been a part of his family life; his parents merely tried to raise his sister and him as best they could. Any religious instruction they received was in the form of learning the mythology of other cultures.

Anyway, Edward didn't believe in any god or such. The universe was too big for god; how could any deity only a few thousand years old inhabit such an ancient and boundless universe?

Also, Edward realized that the universe was too cruel for god. Since the loss of Jasper, the whole world seemed like a frightening, cold place. Everything looked like a child's nightmare, where every little shadow holds monsters and demons come to eat you up.

With Jasper gone, the world needed no Cthulhu or eldritch horrors to terrorize it or make it bleak and inhospitable. Edward was starting to feel like the protagonist of a Lovecraft novel. Maybe Lovecraft had been a repressed homosexual? It would explain by the pasty bastard was always so miserable and self-loathing.

As he was about to start praying, Peter knocked don the open door wearing pyjama bottoms and tank top. The buff Greek's hair was now messy from a shower and free of the grease he used to style it. His mouth was covered with toothpaste foam.

"Hey Ed," Peter spoke, "You have any coffee?"

"Why?" Edward asked. He was just about to engage in something very important.

Peter explained, "Your mom paid me a hundred bucks to keep you from committing suicide. If I'm going to do that I'll need to drink so much fucking coffee."

Edward looked at Peter in confusion, "So you're going to stay awake for the next three days?"

"Yup," affirmed Peter, "I've already had ten chocolate bars and five cans of _Red Bull_. I'll be up all night and day; I might play my favourite music and bring friends over for a party." He didn't bother to ask Edward if that was okay. "Because I want to keep you alive, man."

Edward sighed, it was a pain in the ass but he could live with it. "Okay, but keep it down. I need to sleep tonight."

Peter nodded, "Sure man, I'll just keep it light tonight and play some meatloaf."

Edward ignored Peter and waited until the man was down the hall of his home. He and Jasper used to share an apartment together but that place held too many memories, so Edward pooled together his resourced and moved into a small two story home in the suburbs of Seattle.

Edward believed in no god, he was praying to the one thing that really mattered to him.

Kneeling at the bed, Edward closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in prayer. Breathing in deeply, he chose his words carefully.

"Hello Jasper," he began simply, "if you're out there its Edward."

He shuddered as bad memories of the day on the Hoover Dam returned to him but he bravely pressed on. "I've been hurting, honey; I've been hurting real bad," his tone was pitiful, like a child who wanted a parent to kiss his scraped knee to make it all better. "It hasn't been easy, Jasper; I've only been existing, not really living."

Tears squeezed from out of Edward's closed eyes, "I feel like there's a hole in my heart and it just keeps bleeding and bleeding and nothing I can do will stop it."

"I want to die, Jasper. I know you would want me to live and be happy but I just want to die and be with you wherever you are."

The prayer abruptly stopped. Edward opened his eyes and looked around. He glowered and hung his head. This prayer wasn't helping one bit. His pain was still so sharp and unrelenting.

It wasn't like he enjoyed this. He wanted it to stop but he couldn't. It was like a broken bone but so much more severe.

Edward was shocked when Peter's music came blasting from the speakers downstairs. The Greek guido was playing music off his _Motorhead _album_._

_If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man, _

_You win some; lose some, all the same to me, _

_The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say, _

_I don't share your greed, the only card I need is _

_The Ace Of Spades!_

Peter was down in the living room, the speakers blasting loud enough to shake the house as the words of the great Lemmy Kilmister rang out like thunder.

Out in the open was a twenty-four pack of his favourite beer and a fresh pot of coffee. This weekend he was going to get so fucked up and he was going to keep Edward from killing himself. Could things get any better?

Cracking open a beer, Peter turned around and was surprised by the sight of Edward coming down the stairs.

Edward was out of his pyjamas and was now in a form fitting spandex shirt and some a pair of jeans that were so tight they left nothing to the imagination. How he got into those tight, form fitting jeans was a mystery.

As Edward walked down the stairs, he walked with some of the swagger and arrogance that he'd possessed when he was the premier top in the Seattle gay scene.

As he walked, his finely sculpted muscles flexed under the spandex shirt and the jeans showed off the curve of his firm ass nicely. He looked like sex on legs and for the first time in a long while he didn't look miserable. He just looked pissed off.

Peter liked pissed off and promptly handed Edward a beer.

Cracking open the beer, Edward looked at Peter with smouldering eyes. Though he admired his macho friend from time to time, this was the first time he regretted that Peter was straight. If he was even a little bit curious Edward would make Peter sing like a canary.

As dangerous as Edward felt, he knew that kissing Peter would probably earn him a punch in the mouth. Unconscious was not how he wanted to spend his evening. He'd already done that thanks to the fucking door.

Hesitantly, Peter asked Edward, "You want me to turn down the music man?"

Edward ignored Peter, the dangerous light still in his eyes. Sashaying sexily over to the stereo, he took the volume and turned that fucker up.

Shouting so that he could be heard over the booming of _Motorhead_, Edward ordered Peter, "Get that polish man whore you promised me!"

In the background, _Motorhead _threatened to wake up the whole neighbourhood.

_You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools, _

_But that's the way I like it baby, _

_I don't wanna live for ever, _

_And don't forget the joker!_

Peter smiled at this and took a pull from his beer. Now, Edward was speaking a language he could appreciate.

Edward drank the beer without tasting it and informed Peter over the music, "Get as many whores and bitches as you can. I want to party and I could fuck anything."

Peter laughed, "Even a goat with a hat?"

"Get two fucking goats for all I care. I want to tear apart someone's asshole and I need a lot more beer than this. Get some women for yourself." He handed Peter his credit card, "And let's fucking make this the raunchiest Halloween ever."

Peter grinned maniacally. This was fucking awesome! "Yeah baby!" he roared gleefully and gave Edward a big high five.

To celebrate Halloween, both men pounded back their beers and grabbed another can each. "Wait," said Peter as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of cough syrup. He handed the bottle to Edward, who knew just what to do.

"To Jasper," Edward said solemnly, suddenly looking more like a grieving widower than a raging sex god.

"To Jasper!" Peter yelled as Edward took a big gulp of bitter cough medicine and washed it down by chugging a whole can of beer.

Peter did likewise, chugging down some cough syrup and drinking the whole beer without pause.

Then Peter got on the phone, calling Sweet Kapoyanis to try and get as many whores, male and female as possible.

It was going to be a weekend to remember.

* * *

><p>Tune in next week when Jasper and Edward finally meet again and Zombie Ocelot's evil plan unfolds. On Halloween Night madness and mayhem unfold as the witching hour nears ;)<p>

Thank you all for reading and reviewing.

Ta

Master of the Boot


	4. The Vampire and the Ocelot

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Chapter Four: The Vampire and the Ocelot

Disclaimer: I do not own Metal Gear or Twilight or the Holiday of Halloween. Enter at your own peril.

* * *

><p><em>The Halloween Weekend<em>

_Bacchanalia. Mayhem. Fucking. _

_Those three words did an excellent job of describing what Edward and Peter's Halloween weekend was all about. _

_With Edward's credit card and Peter's charisma, they managed to haul in an impressive load of whores, strippers and sluts. They ordered a dozen pizzas and had friends bring in as much booze as they could get their hands on. _

_From Friday to Monday, they partied nonstop. They never slept; they just kept on drinking, dancing and fucking. _

_Edward lay in his bedroom on top of a young hot thing he never met before. He growled and groaned as he fucked the college student up the ass. It was all hot and good but he was totally deaf to the student begging for more. _

_In the back of his mind, Edward was feeling like a cradle robber; fucking someone so much younger. But right now all his inhibitions were out the window and it was good. In his bedroom, several other couples, hetero and same sex were fucking with the same frenzied madness as Edward was. Men and women, women and women, men and men; it was all the same. _

_Edward hardly even noticed when some young man climbed on top of him, positioned himself and started fucking Edward from behind while simultaneously a drunken girl went up and started gnawing on Edward's arm like it was a pretzel. It was a sandwich of sexual debauchery and it was tasty. _

_Down in the living room Peter was dancing wildly while drinking deeply from a bottle of homemade wine that one of the guests had brought. The brawny man's shirt was off and several women were hanging off of him like he was the king of the Greek gods, Zeus. And like Zeus Peter was going to spread his seed tonight to the pounding rhythms of all his favourite bands. _

_He pulled himself away from the homemade wine long enough to stick his tongue down a woman's throat and grab a cigarette from somebody else. _

_The air was full of smoke form cigarettes and marijuana. It was like time had turned back the hands of the clock and dropped everyone into a medieval carnival with sex, murder and alcohol on fire sale price. _

_For the entire weekend they kept this up, drinking only alcohol and a little pop and only eating enough so that they could go for another round of sex. _

_Condoms littered the house; Peter went through a box of them and then screwed about a dozen times without them. Once Peter even got so drunk that he kissed a man; but only because he thought it was a woman. _

_The neighbours wanted to complain because the music was loud day and night, but Peter and his crowbar scared enough shades of shit to sufficiently quiet down the fucking neighbours until the party could conclude. _

_After the first twenty four hours of partying, Edward was still locked in his bedroom like a prisoner. He was sucking off one man while being taken from behind by another while a third man was sucking his dick. Edward got the cock out of his mouth only long enough to take a big hit off a bong packed with weed, and then it was back to work. _

_Downstairs, a new order of pizza was brought in and one drunken woman started to fuck the pizza guy. The pizza guy was most unlucky because a week from his wife would find out what happened and tear him a new asshole. _

_The next twenty four hours after that was a blur. People had been partying for days now without any sleep. Everyone was crashing and Peter being the good friend he was, got rid of all the fucking free loaders and kicked them out of the house. _

_And that is where the story begins. _

_Halloween morning, half an hour before sunrise_

Edward was feeling like shit. He thought that a weekend long orgy of drink and sex would make him feel any better but it didn't. He was still sore, now it was physical as well as mental. Jasper was gone and the gaping hole in his heart was still oozing and raw.

Miserably, he sat at the breakfast table on Halloween morning and regretted every single thing that happened over the weekend. In fact, he felt like a total slut as he sat before the steaming cup of coffee.

He and Peter were sitting in the exact same spot as they'd done three days before Halloween. Edward was much the same except now he was utterly sleep deprived and his ass ached.

Peter on the other hand was totally fucked up. Though he'd kicked out all the guests he was still hyper and a rabbit on speed. He was like a race horse on cocaine; pure energy and no way to vent it.

Peter was twitching and wiping sweat form his brow as he gulped back an insane amount of coffee. "Oh Edward," breathed while his eyes twitched, "You wanna do something?"

Edward looked up at Peter like a sad puppy, then looked back down again, "No." It was final.

Peter shook his head and failed to notice that his shirt was on backwards. He began to babble at a mile a minute, "Because I can still keep going man. We could go trick or treating tonight, us together. We can get some guns and dress up like rappers or something—or is it rapists?—fuck it we'll be okay."

"But I don't know about you but I did so much cocaine last night and I can't shake it. I need a big fucking Hershey bar but I can't leave the house or else you'll kill yourself and I Can't break your arms."

Edward looked around the house, littered with beer cans, pizza boxes and used condoms. "Well Peter if you have energy why don't you try cleaning up a little."

Peter shot up out of his chair and began to babble more, "Sure man—clean-up, man—it' what well do then we can go out and get some more coffee . . ."

And he just kept going on like that. Peter was like a robot, attacking the task of cleaning up the house with efficiency and tirelessness. It was a little disturbing how he cleaned up the used condoms with such enthusiasm but Edward wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So the clean-up effort commenced. Edward naturally went to grab a black garbage bag but realized that those were all in the garage.

It was dark outside though Edward walked slowly to avoid walking on the Halloween decorations that the guests from the party totally fucked up.

As Edward walked in the dark pre-dawn hours, his stomach began to tell him something. Gagging and wrenching, Edward fell to his knees and threw up the large amount of alcohol he's consumed in the recent time frame.

As he knelt on the ground, it felt like he was vomiting his whole life out. It was all on the ground before him in a great, smelly puddle of ooze and bad bile.

Edward began to dry wretch as another wave of nausea hit him. More vomiting commenced until his body had finally purged itself of all the bad poisons from the reckless weekend.

As he continued to puke up his guts, Edward felt hollow. He was hungry, tired and in mourning. He was honestly regretting his licentious behaviour. Even Peter was going to regret it sooner or later and that man couldn't even spell "regret."

As he lay pathetic and weak, Edward could feel the vomit start to trickle against his knees. Yet he felt something in his stomach; not nausea but a sense of foreboding. He was being watched.

Edward turned round and started to scan. Yes, he could feel it in his animal brain that someone or something was watching him. "Whose there?" he called out in a voice that was devoid of the confidence that had been his trademark.

No answer came, yet from the fathomless shadows there was a sound, like a rustling of cloth or a man shifting his weight. Yes, there was most certainly something there.

"Who are you?" he asked, come out. Just for the smallest moment Edward was worried that some madman or wild animal was waiting to pounce on him. The silence was killer; he knew not what to expect. He certainly didn't expect a voice from the dead to ring out.

"Edward," came that one word, from the voice of a man who'd been dead for two years; a man who'd broken through Edward's protective shell and brought out a fine, kind man to the world.

Edward looked up as if he'd seen a ghost. There was no way that voice could be real. It must be a side effect of the drugs; it had to be.

"No," Edward whispered as he knelt before a pool of vomit. "You died," he breathed.

Moisture started to cloud Edward's vision and he clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood with is nails. "I let you fall." Regret was etched into every fibre of his being like a permanent, painful tattoo.

He looked up and a new emotion entered his voice that had not been present in a long time, hope. "Is that you?" he hardly dared to ask, as if just by asking the whole thing would vanish in a puff of smoke.

Behind Edward, only a few moths flying around the outside light on the back of the house bore witness to these events. Peter was still inside cleaning up used condoms and enjoying it more than anyone should have the right to.

No reply came and Edward spoke a little more forcefully. "Please, I need to know that it's you," he began to plead, "I need to know that I'm not just losing my mind."

There was hesitation from the shadows but in the end an answer would not be denied, "It's me, Edward."

A hurricane of emotions spun through Edward, threatening to cause a meltdown just like three days ago at the breakfast table and the cheese story. "How can it be you?" Edward's voice was so quiet. "I thought you were . . . I thought . . . "the sentence was too horrible to finish.

His lower lip quivered as he finally finished that unspeakable sentence, "I thought you died."

More hesitation came from the shadows. Hidden in the dark, Jasper could feel every bit of emotion emanate from his mate like a cascade of sparks from a fire. Each spark seared his skin and Jasper felt tormenting grief and agony for performing this charade but it had to be done.

Biting his lip, Jasper tried to ignore Edward's emotions; the power of being able to sense emotions was truly a curse. Normally Jasper only felt rage or puppy like shock in those he killed; but grief and guilt were a thousand times worse.

Even more troubling was that with his vampire eyes, Edward was a thousand times more beautiful than before. Jasper could see all his mate's faults and highlights and it was all so marvellous. Marvellous and sad.

In a moment though, Jasper suppressed the feeling. Maria's conditioning took over. He felt nothing because he was a dog. He was only here because the last remnant of his human persona dragged him here. As a good dog he'd end this farce and return to his master and accept the punishment he so richly deserved. Because he was a good dog.

He unconsciously touched the metal collar around his neck. "I was dying, it was cloudy; someone found me."

Edward couldn't believe what he was hearing; he had a puzzle and more than half the pieces were missing. "What do you mean?" He daren't say Jasper's name; it was a sacred name and to speak it again would end the dream.

"It doesn't matter," came Jasper's flat, inflectionless voice.

Edward looked into the shadows and shakily stood up. Before he went further down the rabbit hole there was something he needed to ask. "Come into the light," he requested.

Once more there was hesitation. This was utterly out of character for Jasper. He never used to pussyfoot around any issue; always straightforward and honest was he. Perhaps the years had changed him.

Slowly, painfully slow, glacial slow; Jasper came into the harsh light cast by the outdoor lamp on Edward's house.

Edward held his breath as the face of his love walked into the light like some creature of the night.

Yes, there could be no mistake, this was Jasper. The only Jasper that there ever was, was in front of Edward now. Yet it wasn't Jasper.

The person that Jasper had become was starkly different from the man he'd been. He was clad in an all-black outfit that looked like it'd been taken from the back rack at the Goodwill store. Around his neck Edward could make out a silver dog's collar.

God, what had Jasper been through these two years they'd been apart?

Most striking of all was the change to Jasper's body. His face had hardened. Gone was any fat or softness in his features. He was hard as stone and sharp as steel. His eyes that once twinkled with kindness now were hard, cold and uncaring as the stars above. His full lips, red and bright against his pale skin were turned down in a straight faced semi-scowl.

Jasper's once handsome neck now strained his metal collar with thick cords of muscle under skin that was as white as the worms which live under stones and logs.

On his features, the change that stood out the most were his eyes. The Texan's once baby blues had transformed into a bestial crimson. Those red eyes scanned Edward and made him feel exposed. All innocence was gone from Jasper.

And for all these changes, Edward could feel nothing but relief.

Jasper walked until he and Edward were at arm's length and no further.

Edward was speechless; he knew not what to think let alone what to say. It was his most impossible dream realized. Truly the heavens had granted him this one wish.

As if in sleepwalk, Edward slowly reached out his arm to touch Jasper.

"Stop," Jasper's steel voice halted Edward's touch. Edward froze, afraid of the changes in his beloved.

A silence fell before them. That was nothing new. Many times, Jasper and Edward had lain together in perfect silence and in perfect contentment; happy to do nothing but lie still together and hold hands to smile.

The silence now was anything but comfortable. If anything, Edward was aware of a painful and very real distance between them. This was new and it was scary.

Edward stumbled over the words, "Look, Jasper," he swallowed, "I'm not sure what happened to you but come inside. I've missed you so much. Whatever happened, we can talk about it."

In Jasper's red eyes a glimmer of humanity was there and then was gone like smoke in the wind. "I'd like that," he tried and failed to conceal his regret.

Edward stepped closer to the crimson demon that had his Jasper locked inside him. "Then come back to me, Jasper. I don't care what's happened to you."

Jasper lowered his head. He could no longer meet with Edward's gaze.

"I know you're still the man I fell in love with."

This caused a tremor of anger in Jasper's body. "Is that what you think?" he asked in a voice that wasn't human; a bestial hiss.

Until now he'd been holding his hands behind his back. Revealing them made Edward's eyes widen. Jasper's hands were now long fingered killing tools; with an extra joint on them and long, bronze coloured claws. "I am not the man you knew," he seethed.

He looked at his hands and looked up, fangs protruding from his mouth; the rest of his teeth replaced with translucent sharp needles. "These are my weapons and I am different."

Yet to Jasper's total shock, Edward didn't run away screaming. Instead, he threw himself on Jasper and threw his arms around him.

Only the grace of god and utter shock prevented Jasper from disembowelling Edward out of instinct.

Knowingly or unknowingly, Edward leaned in such a way that exposed his succulent neck to Jasper. God, he'd eaten so recently but he was always hungry. The mere sound of a human heartbeat threatened to turn Jasper into a raging animal of instinct; only Maria's conditioning made him stop. He needed the order to feed.

"It's alright, Jasper," Edward tried to sooth the savage beast that was his mate, "Whatever is wrong, it's nothing we can't overcome."

Jasper began to grind his sharp teeth. This wasn't working. In his mind, Maria's conditioning and his own vampire nature were fighting against his old persona of Jasper Whitlock-Cullen and the human Jasper was fighting valiantly but being buried. He could not lose sight of his true purpose here.

"There's no "we" Edward," said Jasper.

Instantly, Edward froze. He looked up with shock in his bleary eyes, "What?"

"I mean," and with that, Jasper said something that he would regret for the rest of his immortal life, "I mean that I don't want you."

He pulled away from Edward. "I'm sorry, but this is how it has to be." Then he was gone like a memory.

Edward stood there with his arms open, waiting for the embrace that would never come. He felt bad.

Honestly, he felt worse.

His one true love had died and then two years later he came back somehow, only to tell Edward that he didn't want him.

It was a crime! It was a travesty! It was . . . it was. . .

Edward turned and held himself as if he were cold. His fingernails dug into his shoulders convulsively, as if he were trying to make himself bleed.

From his throat tore a pitiful half squeal that sounded like a scream of pain. His breathing became ragged hyperventilation. He felt like he was choking and couldn't breathe.

Blindly, Edward began to stumble back towards the house. Tripping through the back door, he slammed the light switch with his fist; killing the back light and smashing the switch into broke plastic.

Edward half gasped, half shrieked as he blindly moved into the kitchen. He looked like he wanted to cry but no amount of tears could quench the anguish in his mind, soul and heart.

Even if he could, all his tears were completely spend and now nothing was left but a hollow man with no purpose in life, no reason to live and without a speck of hope for anything.

Edward felt cold. He felt the darkness suffocating him and killing him. The whole world was a nightmare which he wanted nothing more than to wake up. It was all one giant nightmare that he thought was reality.

Suddenly, Edward tripped and fell. As he fell, he didn't even stop himself from falling. He just hit the floor of the kitchen hoping that his skull would be smashed.

Twitching like a wounded animal, Edward desired nothing more than to be put out of his misery.

Crawling like a leper, he opened the knife drawer with trembling hand and pulled out the longest, sharpest knife in the drawer.

It was that moment that Edward was about to slit his wrists that Peter came barging in like a charging buffalo and saw what the fuck was going on. He knew nothing of the encounter outside and he was still drugged out of his mind.

Immediately, Peter dropped the garbage bag he was holding and pulled out a crowbar from his belt, the very one that Esme had given him to break Edward's arms.

His hand wrapped around Edward's wrist like a steel vice, halting the knife only an inch before it could cut into the soft flesh of Edward's wrists.

Compulsively, Edward began to make a high pitched whine like a frightened baby and claw at Peter.

Ignoring the clawing and odd noises, Peter wretched the knife out of Edward's grasp. As the young man screamed in angst, Peter swung the crowbar and struck Edward across the side of the head.

Stars filled Edward's field of vision and mercifully he slipped once more into black oblivion. Now if only he could slip into oblivion and never come back.

Peter stood over Edward, breathing heavily. This was frankly beyond his experience. Edward needed help, badly; and Peter's drugged out brain recognized that he wasn't the man who was qualified to give that help.

For once, the hard fisted Greek bar fighter was utterly helpless. Peter hadn't been this helpless since he'd failed math class in first grade and his father gave him a dress down in front of all of his friends for his laziness. Impotently, his hands gripped the crowbar.

For once, the feel of iron hitting skull had no pleasure to it. Peter cursed his own uselessness.

Suddenly the phone rang and Peter grabbed it without hesitation. Maybe it was Edward's family; they'd need to be warned at some point or else they might start blaming Peter for Edward's promise.

Instead, on the other end of the phone was an electronically distorted baritone voice that said, "**I'm looking for Edward Whitlock-Cullen?"**

Peter however had nothing to say to the distorted voice on the line, "Each my spicy cock," and then he hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>Edward awoke nearly twenty four hours later. A combination of Peter's crowbar and the stress and sleeplessness of the weekend had weakened him dramatically.<p>

For a moment, Edward only felt sick, tired and weak. In fact, he felt much worse physically than he did when he was knocked unconscious. Then he remembered what happened and he shuddered as if he'd ingested poison.

It was almost dawn, but when the sun rose Edward would feel no warmth. His whole world had needed. There was no tomorrow.

He curled up, not even having the strength necessary to grab another knife and end it all. Maybe he'd just take some pills with booze. Go to sleep and never wake up; it sounded like an easy way to go from this nightmare.

Suddenly however, the phone rang and Edward ignored it. The phone rang until the answering machine took it. Then the phone rang again.

Edward lay on the ground and the phone rang.

The phone never stopped ringing. It only kept on ringing and ringing and ringing and . . .

Eventually Edward could take no more of that horrid, idiotic, mindless tone. He forced himself up and began to reach for that damnable phone.

The caller on the phone must have been persistent because it took Edward nearly two minutes to pick up the damn thing.

At last he picked up the receiver and spoke in a grey voice, "I'm going to kill myself."

On the other end, Edward could hear the sound of electronically distorted baritone laughter. "**I'm looking for Edward Whitlock-Cullen**."

For a moment, confusion entered Edward's otherwise empty skull. Who could be looking for him? "Speaking," he said flatly.

Shakily, Edward leaned against the counter of the kitchen. Peter really had done a good job cleaning up, but where was he? He started to look around for his friend. As he noticed Peter slumped over at the kitchen table, the distorted voice spoke, "**I'm just an old friend, looking for another old friend. Do you know where I can find Jasper Whitlock-Cullen**?"

Edward's head began to spin at the mention of _his_ name. "Never speak that name to me, ever!" he ground out in anger. Even in grief, he felt nothing but betrayal at _his_ hands.

The distorted voice chuckled once more, "**So you've seen your butt buddy lately**?"

"Who is this?" Edward said in a cold voice.

Was this a joke? Maybe it was a prank call. Maybe he's just have Peter track down this guy and knee cap him like a good little boy.

Speaking of Peter, he wasn't looking so good.

Edward was just about to call to his friend when suddenly the man fell over on his side, off of the chair. It took Edward a second to realize it in the dim kitchen but Peter had a dart sticking out of his neck.

Edward's green, reddened eyes widened with horror at the sight of his friend prone and drugged on the ground. Was he dead?

Edward ran to check Peter's pulse but he forgot about the phone and the darn plastic contraption clattered to the ground.

As the phone dangled on the wire, Edward could hear the distorted voice running itself off.

Suddenly, through the emptiness, Edward felt white hot anger. He may have lost Jasper but even in these times nobody dared to cross his friends. He'd not let Peter down like he let Jasper down.

It was obvious; Jasper left Edward because he was a slut and a disgrace but Peter deserved better.

Snatching the phone, Edward snarled into the receiver. "Whoever you are, I have a gun and I'm going to kill you."

The voice laughed, "**Good, good my boy. Because I also have a gun; it's the greatest gun ever made.**" That last phrase made Edward freeze like a statue. He dropped the receiver but even so, he could still hear the distorted voice and he knew who it was.

He hardly even noticed when Jasper smashed through the nearest window in full vamp mode. If he was formidable before he was terrifying now. His mouth was open in humanly wide to reveal massive panther like fangs and multiple rows of translucent needle like teeth. His red eyes bulged until they were nearly outside of his head and his elbows and knees seemed to be able to bend backwards and forwards at will.

With his inhuman mouth, Jasper howled a warning to Edward. Unlike before, Edward felt himself recoil in fear form Jasper; not out of fear of his life but for fear of what he might say.

"_Run Edward!_" the beastly Jasper howled like a mix of a roaring crocodile and a bursting steam valve, "_He's making the call from inside the house!"_

Jasper bounded up the stairs with speed that matched the velocity of some bullets. Yet before he could even get up the stairs into Edward's bedroom, something hit him with enough force to knock him back.

"No!" Edward screamed as a series of pages with magic runes wrapped themselves around Jasper and bound him like the coils of a constrictor. Jasper snarled, spat black bile and struggled but the magic runes on the parchment would not let him break free.

Edward ran to his fallen—mate?—whatever he was he ran to Jasper to help. Some things just weren't easily forgotten.

Yet both human and vampire went silent as a pair of cowboy boots going down the stairs resonated through the now silent and lifeless house.

Edward's eyes widened with true terror as Revolver Ocelot walked down the stairs in his resplendent undead glory.

No! There was no way _that_ man could still be alive! Jasper being alive was a blessing but no curse or biblical plague could rival that of the resurrected Ocelot. The man must be the very devil himself of Dante's epic poem to return in such a way

Ocelot slowly walked down the stairs. His new and freshly washed cowboy duds were spoiled by the large amount of blood splashed across the front of his white dress shirt. His long duster billowed out behind him like Dracula's cape.

He held his arms wide and his pistols glinted proudly at his side. "A man does not die of love or his liver or old age; he dies of being a man," he quoted a famous man. In the dark of pre-dawn his eyes glowed from out of their pupils a putrid, yellow light like the activity of certain cave fungi.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Ocelot ran backwards up the stairs and flicked on the light switch. Like a movie star he wanted good lighting before he ruined someone else's life.

Edward honestly wished that Ocelot hadn't turned on the light. Now he could fully see the man's unnaturally blue complexion, his chipped yellow teeth like sharp flints and the dead varicose veins that decorated his skin in random places.

Ocelot continued to walk down the stairs like a singer making a comeback tour, "From my rotting body flowers shall grow, and I am in them and that is eternity," he laughed heartily. "I am become death! The destroyer of worlds!"

He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Zombie Ocelot pointed a gloved, skeletal finger at Edward and the still struggling Jasper, "I am become death and you are fucked!"

* * *

><p>I hope you enjoyed that :D In the next one, Zombie Ocelot explains how he came back to life and what he's going to do to his hated enemies, Jasper and Edward. Both men will be forced to face their sins and no man will be the same for ever after :D<p>

The Death Quotes are respectively by Miguel de Unamuno, Edvard Munch and Robert Oppenheimer.

If you want some good reading, check out Baxratty and his amazing Doctor Who and Hellsing crossover, _Valhallah: Road to Hell_. Also worth reading is Blacksand1's story _Hostilities_. And just check out any of my favourites for good reading

I love all you guys,

Ta

Master of the Boot


	5. Satanic Holiday

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Chapter Five: Satanic Holiday

Disclaimer: I do not own Metal Gear or Twilight. To clarify, Jasper is a mix between a Twilight vampire and my own species design. He burns in sun, not sparkles. His skin is like solid stone. Piercing his heart will kill him but first you have to get through his nearly indestructible skin. He has a second row of sharp teeth behind his human ones that are retractable and most important of all his hands are permanently large, menacing claws.

On with the show ;)

* * *

><p><em>One year ago, Ocelot's death, Hell<em>

_Ocelot screamed as he fell naked through a giant hole in the earth's crust. Head over heels he tumbled, falling utterly naked. For it is true; we take nothing with us into this world and we take nothing out of it. _

_The farther he fell, the more that he could feel the temperature rise. As he plummeted ever further and faster into the center of the earth and into Hades Kingdom, Ocelot futilely clawed at the air in search of a handhold that wasn't there. _

_As the nude old man plunged, he could feel his eyes water from the force with which he cut through the air and the powerful stench of the sulfur fumes wafting up from the bottom of the pit. _

_Ocelot was falling at terminal velocity now. The wind was forcing his eyelids and lips back like a cluster of painful, invisible hands. The former spy's long hair and moustache fluttered in the wind like the tail of a comet. _

_Below him, Ocelot would see the molten lava boiling and writhing with heat greater than a crucible. Even hundreds of feet above the molten rock, Ocelot felt hot enough that his skin and hair were about to catch fire. _

_As Ocelot plunged like a meteorite into the furnace of hell he began to feel his skin peel and burn like a chicken in the oven. His white hair caught flame and burned. The late spy howled in pain as the fire consumed his hair and skin. _

_The old man's faded skin grew brown, and then black then split while his bodily fats caught fire. The fire spread, totally erasing the man's unique facial features and transforming them into a grotesque funeral death mask. _

_As he burned and writhed, gravity took him closer and closer to hell's radioactive furnace. A single question bounced around in the back of his mind like a lost moth banging around inside an empty jar. Why was he the only one in hell? Where were the other damned souls? _

_Indeed, where were the damned? There was nothing here but Ocelot, the stone walls and the molten rock below that ran like water. Radiation penetrated deep into Ocelot's bones and compounded the torment he felt further. _

_Just as Ocelot was about to hit the magma below, something stopped him. He yelped pathetically as something dug into his flesh like a safety harness made of barbed wire. _

_Suddenly the heat wasn't so great and his skin and hair were back to normal; though he was still naked. _

_Looking around, Ocelot screamed in terror as he saw his body was being suspended over the lava by an array of skeleton hands coming out of the molten rock and walls. In vain he struggled but the hands of hell were just too strong for him. _

_Adding insult to eternal damnation, one of the Skeleton hands reached out and jammed a bony digit into Ocelot's left nostril. The old man yelped and hollered and squawked and shook his head, trying to get the fucking skeleton finger out of his mother fucking nose. _

_The hand pulled away, only for another hand to reach out and start yanking on his pubic hair. The old man's eye bulged and he kicked his legs trying to break free. The skeletal hand let go of Revolver Ocelot's stark white pubic hair—_

_Just as another pair of hands began to yank at the tips of his moustache. Screaming and cursing in his native language, Ocelot frantically threw his head from side to side to save his sexy moustache. _

_The hands let go and then Ocelot saw the worst of all. _

"_Oh shit!" _

_Before he knew it, a skeletal hand clobbered him over the head with a can of tomatoes hard enough to put a dent in the can. _

_Ocelot's eyes rolled in his skull while flying mini-satans danced around his head like in a cartoon. _

_Was this what hell was like? Being stuck in a Tex Avery cartoon for all eternity with no way relief in death or escape?_

_Two days before Halloween_

_They say that a near death experience makes a man appreciate what he has; the same goes double and quadruple for returning from Hell. Ocelot had spent two years being tormented in the fiery pits of hell_

_Now he was back and ready for revenge. And like everything else he did, Ocelot wouldn't be happy unless he made it needlessly flashy and overly complex. As he scoped out Edward's house with a pair of binoculars, Ocelot's plan was to sneak in and hide until the right time. _

_Zombie Ocelot put down his binoculars and put them back into his duster. Upon returning from hell he'd gained much knowledge in physics and black magic which few mortal men knew. He also knew ahead of time that on Halloween morning before dawn dear vampire Jasper would show up. _

_Ocelot grinned at the prospect of revenge. His enemies would suffer as he had suffered. _

_The Russian zombie dropped the shoulder bag he was carrying with him and began to shuffle through it. He was going through it to check that all his equipment was in order. Let's see: he still had a grappling hook and line, rusty knife, car battery and wire, corkscrew, brass knuckles, spare ammo and most important of all some brains in a jar left over from the girl he killed and partially ate. _

_Ocelot was ready to rock and roll. Taking his grappling hook and hefting on his shoulder bag, he sprinted towards the back yard. _

_Inside, the music was blasting and Ocelot wanted to fucking kill everyone inside for their abominable taste in music. _

_Not wasting a moment, Ocelot pulled the grappling hook out of his bag and started to spin it around. _

_Tossing the hook high, Zombie Ocelot was pleased when it caught onto something. The zombie pulled, feeling that the hook was firmly grasping on something. So he started to really put his weight on it. _

_Unfortunately all he did was rip the eaves troughs off the side of the house. Ocelot fell backwards as the eaves clattered to the ground. He covered his head to protect from a falling downspout. _

_Cursing under his breath, Ocelot was pleased that the music was loud enough that it would drown out the sound of a hundred train horns. _

_With practiced ease, Ocelot swung the grapple line and finally caught something substantial. Grinning, the fresh zombie began to climb up the rope with the ease of an acrobat in his prime. _

_However Ocelot didn't get half way up the rope before a pair of panties flew out a window and landed on his face. This caused the zombie to halt his ascent. A noise of irritation and outrage come from his mouth as he reached up and threw the pink panties to the side. Gripping the rope with fury, Ocelot renewed his climb—_

_-only for a second pair of underwear to fly out a window and hit him in the face. _

_Hissing through his yellow, chipped teeth, Ocelot grabbed the underwear and threw it away. He didn't see the brand name of the underwear but he knew from the brief glance he'd taken that this was a pair of men's undies. _

_Ocelot supressed a yell as he grabbed the undies off his face and threw them into the night. Relentlessly he climbed up that house. He climbed and climbed all the way up to the second story even though the back door was open and he could have taken the stairs. But Ocelot was not a man who used stairs. Stairs were for douches. _

_At last, Ocelot reached the window and there he saw Edward, engaging in all manner of sexual debauchery. _

_The zombie spy's lips curled in a sneer. Just look at that little piggy, rutting like an animal in heat; the quintessential capitalist dog cunt sore. As Edward moaned and writhed sinuously in time with his two sexual partners, Ocelot growled openly. From behind his teeth, black ooze started to secrete instead of clear saliva. _

_Ocelot's vision turned red and the black ooze started to overflow his mouth and slowly dribble down his chin, leaving an oil film as it did. _

_He put one claw like dead hand on the window sill to pull himself inside. For a moment, he was prepared to throw aside all his elaborate plans and schemes and just rip out that little fag's throat. _

_Ocelot barely even noticed the black ooze that was a by-product of his hunger for brains. He could smell the brains, his hunger was roaring. The need was present even though his binge on Bree Tanner's grey matter had assuaged it temporarily. _

_It wasn't just Edward's brains he wanted, it was all their brains. Every last one; man or woman made no difference as long as he could get to maybe that six or eight pounds hidden inside their skulls. _

_His rational mind buried under the hunger, Ocelot was ready to submit. _

_Then he got hit in the face with a used condom. _

_It took Ocelot exactly one third of a second to realize just what it was that hit him in the face. _

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" _

_No one could hear him scream over the music and the sound of fucking. His hands flew up to tear the cum filled condom off, which in turn caused him to fall backwards and land hard in the flowerbed. _

_His old, smelly, decayed body landed in the flowerbed and kicked up a cloud of dust. _

_Still screaming, Zombie Ocelot jumped up and swatted the contraceptive off his face, spinning around like he was being attacked by a swarm of bees. _

_Moaning pitifully and praying to god, Ocelot ran over to the garden hose and frantically turned the faucet, only for it to fall off. So there would be no water to wash his face with. _

_Ocelot screamed and began to roll on the ground like he was on fire. His long hair and coat soaked up the dew and he rolled to and fro like a log, eventually rubbing his face on the grass like an animal. _

_Swiftly, he stood up and began to brush the grass off his shirt and out of his hair. He was feeling infected and so far revenge wasn't going as planned. _

_The evil zombie man breathed heavily as he tried to put that horrible trauma aside. _

_As he looked down, he saw that the condom was now stuck to the tip of his boot. Clenching his hands, Ocelot was this far away from throwing a temper tantrum. As he kicked the wet condom off his foot, a beer can from the window hit him on the head. _

_That was the last straw. _

_Ocelot raised his hands and screamed in anger instead of disgust. Sprinting like a champion, he ran across the backyard towards the trampoline. _

_Swift as the wind, Ocelot ran and jumped onto the trampoline. Sailing in a graceful arc, Ocelot flew through the air and went face first through a window pane on the second floor. Glass shattered and flew everywhere as Ocelot's face broke a very expensive heat saving window. _

_Halloween Night, today_

"And so," Ocelot explained to the helpless Jasper and Edward, "I have returned from hell to the land of the living so that I may do Satan's bidding."

The human and vampire could only stare in shock at the undead ghoul before them.

It was then that Ocelot looked directly at a figure that only he could see and hear, nobody else.

"You're the best, Ocelot," Said the devil.

Ocelot nearly blushed, "Awe," he said bashfully, "thank you Satan."

The zombie turned away from Satan, the praise still fresh in his mind. "Now," he said in a low and slightly seductive voice, "Who am I going to kill first?"

* * *

><p>I hope you enjoyed that :D This was a lighter chapter, hopefully giving people some breathing room from my darker earlier chapters.<p>

Thanks to all and a merry Christmas and Happy Halloween

Special mention goes out to Blacksand1, my dear friend and especially to everyone who reads and reviews. Reviews are love and I'd like to thank BaxxRatty, who is collaborating on a Batman/Hellsing crossover with me.

TA,

I'm the Master of the Boot


	6. Fresh Cuts

Terror on Gay Street: Halloween Nightmare

Chapter Six: Fresh cuts and bruises

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Metal Gear

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><p>"Come one," said Ocelot quite cheerfully as he spun the giant bowie knife in his hand, "Who wants to be first to try Dr. Ocelot's famous cure?"<p>

Jasper writhed in the grasp of the magic chain of pages that Ocelot had set on him. Edward however, seemed strangely unresponsive. It was like seeing Ocelot here had just caused him to shut down. In his eyes there was no recognition, and Ocelot found it very disappointing. He was hoping that he'd be feared.

Licking his lips with a pale blue tongue, Ocelot looked at Edward hungrily, "How about you, precious? A minute ago you were afraid; do I have to remind you why you ought to fear me?" His fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife.

As if suddenly remembering who Ocelot was, Edward lunged for the little table that the phone stood on. Frantically he flung open the drawer on it and rifled around with manic speed.

Ocelot chuckled when Edward found nothing. He outright laughed when the young man threw himself ontot he floor and tried to reach for something he had taped underneath the living room table.

"I took the liberty of removing all five guns you had hidden around the house," he informed. Edward instantly looked downfallen and cold as ice. His hands clenched as if he wanted one of those guns that he thought could bring security from the madman before him. Yet his face still kept that helpless "lost child" type look.

Ocelot passed his knife from hand to hand. Oh all the delightfully wicked things he was going to do to these kids. Lord Satan would be so happy with what he had in mind.

Jasper howled like a raging animal. But after the loud revelry of the weekend, it was doubtful that anybody in the neighborhood would notice or care about his racket at his early hour.

Ocelot was getting impatient, foreplay was fun but he really needed to get working. "Come one," he demanded painfully, "Where's the spirit, where's the love and the fear?"

He addressed them with the flourish of a classic stage actor. Ocelot was just playing his role, as they played theirs. He feighed confusion before the two broken men, "I thought that you two loved each other more than life itself?"

He then turned to Edward, "Oh I understand," as he ran a gloved hand down the edge of the blade. "You don't like your boyfriend anymore because of what he's become; a stinking, capitalist vampire."

"He's not my boyfriend," Edward said in a hollow whisper, light and empty as stale air in a cave.

"Eh?" Ocelot suddenly felt confusion come upon his mind. This was one scenario that even his twisted and convoluted mind did not foresee.

Edward felt like he wanted to just rip into the floor with his bare hands and dig a deep, dark hole where he could hide forever. He couldn't do that, so he did the next most impossible thing. He admitted to Ocelot what was really happening. "He's not anything to me because we broke up." Edward raised his head.

Jasper was treated to an accusing glare from Edward. This was the first and only time that Edward had given him a look of hate. And for all his vampire teeth, claws and strength, under Edward's hollow, betrayed glare he felt as weak as a puppy. Suddenly, it dawned on him the full extent of what his words had done to Edward and it tore him apart. It was hardly one one-thousandth of the duress Edward felt when his true love came back from the dead seemingly for the sole purpose of breaking up.

Ocelot was genuinely confused now. Distractedly he began to scratch his unfeeling, necrotic ear. "How the hell did you break up? He and I both died on the same day."

Then ocelot had a revelation, and his pale, dead face split into a wide grin. "I understand," he gloated, "one look at his freakish visage and you screamed in terror like the damsel you are."

Ocelot nodded, pleased with his own cleverness, "Well, love is ninety percent physical, after all." He purred with satisfaction.

"No," whispered Edward again, once more throwing Ocelot for a loop.

Edward's eyes just stared out into space, seeing right through both Jasper and Revolver Ocelot. Tears began to silently fall from his eyes. He looked once more at Jasper before his vacant stare returned. "Jasper doesn't want me?"

Ocelot was stunned by this revelation. He looked to Edward and Jasper and back again. Finally he stared at Jasper and asked, "What is he talking about?"

Jasper winced, he felt like he was standing in a beam of sunlight. Once, a year ago he'd accidently been trapped out during daylight. It was torturous, stuck in that one little speck of shadow while the murderous sun lazily danced across the sky on appollo's chariot. Every inch of exposed skin on his body felt like he had a thousand hot needles being driven into it. His hair fell out as if standing under a radioactive beam and blood poured from his body like sweat.

Given the choice between being burned by the sun again and confessing to what he'd done, he'd choose the sun. He'd always choose the yellow death over his confession of guilt.

When Jasper spoke, it wasn't in the growl of the vampire nor the smooth seductive voice he'd been given in his second life; instead, he sounded just like he'd done when he was human. Just like he sounded when he was flawed, weak, mortal and everything that Edward needed. "I told him I didn't want him."

Ocelot shook his head to make sure that some piece of Bree Tanner's brains didn't get stuck in his ear by accident. Though he could swear for a moment that he could hear something rattle in his skull. With bulging eyes, he demanded, "You said that?"

The dastardly Russian Spy laughed with disbelief. Jasper's shamed silence told him everything. "After all you've been through that's what you say?" He was truly at a loss for words, "Even for a man like me, that's cold."

Ocelot was truly horrified at the idea that a person could go up to the person who meant most to them in the whole wide world; but like a kid on a roller coaster, horror quickly turned into a thrill. "Fantastic!" he hissed with glee.

His arms fell to his side, loose and relaxed as he gazed upon his victims. "So let me see that I understand you," Zombie Ocelot said with his catlike grin. "You came here and told this little fag," he flashed a hungry smile at Edward, "That you didn't want him; that you were throwing him away like a piece of garbage, that you discarded him like a used condom."

Ocelot chuckled long and hard as the black bile stained his teeth, "In short, you fucked him and left him; like I do all the time."

Jasper roared and snapped his teeth at Ocelot. The vampire's translucent, razor sharp teeth closed on thin air but the power behind those jaws must have been fantastic by the sound of the snap. "**IT WAS NOTHING LIKE THAT!" **Jasper said in the voice of a hungry wolf. "**I did it because I loved him!**"

Close to Jasper, more tears fell from Edward's eyes. "You 'loved' me," past tense. As in he dind't love anymore.

Ocelot was so _pleased _with these events! He was so happy he felt like he was going to grow butterfly wings and flutter off to heaven. "Why don't you ask him?" he pointed at Edward, he asked in a saccharine voice.

Edward recoiled from Ocelot's pointing finger as if it were a gun

_Ocleot grinned as he watched Edward suck on the barrel of his revolver_

"Really?" said Ocelot with a batch of sarcasm that could put a teenager to shame. "Does this look okay to you?" He took his knife and threw it into the wood of the coffee table, where it stuck. And without any warning he swooped down like a hawk and grabbed Edward by the neck.

"Let go of me!" shrieked Edward. Between venomous snakes in his underpants and Ocelot touching him he'd choose the snakes any day. He struggled under Ocelot's grip but the Zombie's dead hands were like pieces of cold iron inside his gloves. A little pinch of Edward's larynx caused the young man to gasp and choke. Soon his vision began to turn black around the edges.

Jasper stopped struggling as he watched his love in the grip of a twisted, sadistic zombie. He'd never seen a zombie but he'd heard stories about them. In this very moment, Jasper was feeling the same pain, frustration and sense of unfairness that Edward was feeling when he broke it off.

Ocelot's grin grew ever wider as he got a terribly clever, and I mean terrible idea. "Do you want me to spare the delicate daisy?" He said as he manoevered Edward into a painful arm lock.

Edward yelled out in pain and indignation but the Zombie Russian had all the power here.

Jasper felt the words catch in his throat. For once, he was frozen in indecision. He wanted Edward to live but he knew that he couldn't trust this slippery snake. He knew that no matter what he did Ocelot would never let them live.

But his logical assessment went out the window when Ocelot drove his thumb into Edward's eye.

For Jasper there could be no more horrible sound than hearing Edward make that high pitched squeal of pain and helplessness.

Ocelot was still smiling but now his smile was a mask for his terrible, vengeful rage. "You'll do what I say or else I'll pop the eyes out of his head,": he hissed.

"Please," Jasper begged. God, now was the perfect time to beg. "I'll do whatever you want."

Ocelot smiled but now it had a tint of confusion to it. It was as if the heat of the moment he'd forgotten whatever it was that he wanted beyond the submission and humiliation of his enemies. Then he started to work something out. "I want you to . . . ." he let the statement hang as he pretended to think it out.

Ocelot licked his frozen lips with his thick, bloated tongue, coating them with the black ichor. "I want you to tell him," he squeezed Edward's neck tighter, "exactly what you told him earlier when you two broke up."

Jasper choked, and suddenly a great wave of shame and sickness flooded over him. This miasma of negative of emotion wasn't from without but within. Jasper had so long been bombarded with the rage and guilt of others that now he'd almost forgotten how much it hurt when one truly felt remorse for one's actions.

His long brass claws scratched futiley against the magic pages holding him in place but ot no avail. He began to choke out words, hoping to stall Ocelot long enough to break out or find some way to break the magic spell. "I told him that he wasn't safe with me, that we couldn't go on like before," he said in a hoarse voice, but that wasn't what Ocelot wanted to hear.

"No!" he growled in frustration. Ocelot then took his hand from Edward's eye and grabbed him by the hair; where then he slammed his head into the ground.

"stop it!" Jasper screamed from the bottom of his soul. Tears of blood ran down his face and out of his nose. He began to sob uncontrollably. "Please—I'm begging you, just stop!"

"WHY SHOULD I!" Ocelot screamed, flecks of black ichor flying from his mouth and staining his teeth. He began to pant like a hungry dog. One eyelid remained half open while the other blinked spastially. His teeth chattered, though it wasn't from cold.

Standing up, Ocelot planted his boot on Edward's neck and pressed down just enough to give the boy the bare minimum of air.

Edward struggled, but he ceased when he saw his once lover, now vampire, weeping like a child. Edward could amost feel his humiliation, hurt and loneliness shatter. Against all odds, against everything that had happened—even against those awful words that Jazz had spoken, he still wished for nothing more than to walk across the living room and comfort the crying monster was still had his true love buried somewhere in him.

In a starined voice, Ocelot made his demands perfectly clear. "You have no power, no agency. I have everything," he ground his teeth together so hard that Edward could hear the tips of his teeth cracking, "And I still want more. So either you tell me what I want or . . . or . . ." he let the statement hang.

The black ichor was pouring out of Ocelot's mouth like a faucet and falling onto edward's face. Choking and struggling, the boy tried in vain to wipe it off.

Ocelot suddenly became aware of his own foul drooling and tried to wipe it with the back of his hand, once, twice, three times. He looked at the black ooze on his glove with numb disbelief; as if he could hardly even believe what he'd become.

"I don't want you," came the quiet admission, along with the sound of Jasper's soul shattering forever.

Ocelot put a finger behind his ear and tapped it a bit, as if he were having hearing problems? "Sorry, what was that?" he said in a smartass voice.

"I said I don't' want you."

But Jasper should have known that Ocelot wasn't done twisting the knife. "You'll have to talk a little louder. I'm an old man," he laughed.

"I don't want you!"

Ocelot looked so full of shit, with that silly grin on his face. "Lou—der!"

"I DON'T WANT YOU! I DON'T WANT YOU! I said I didn't want him, now for the love of god, please let him go. Kill me but just let him go! There's no hope for us, so just go away!"

The black ichor had stopped, though Ocelot still had a big smear of it on his pale chin. The look on his face was one of complete and utter satisfaction; of a man who'd read _1984_ and seen not a warning against tyranny but a manual for world domination.

His eyes narrowed with pleasure and his features tightened. Zombie Ocelot threw back his head as if he were about to laugh. His body shook and his hands clenched. He took his boot off of Edward's neck and stepped back.

"YES!" Ocelot cried orgasmically, "THAT WAS GREAT!"

He took a deep breath and exhaled, grinning from ear to ear. "That was good," he breathed, "I need a cigarette after that."

He then looked straight at Jasper, who wept bright red blood. "Yuou're a piece of shit, did you know that?" That was a lie, calling him a piece of shit would only elevate Ocelot.

The vampire had stopped crying, but more than ever he wanted to curl into a fetal ball and die. Now he knew how Edward felt when he told him "I don't want you."

Ocelot ran a hand through his hair. "You took the person you loved the most and stabbed him right I the heart. Frnakly, you disgust me." And he meant it.

Then Zombie Ocelot had a choice. He could have just walked away. He'd already won. He'd totally and utterly crushed his enemies. Neither Jasper nor Edward had anything left to live for. Their dreams were dead and the love they shared was thoroughly poisoned and it was dubious that it'd ever go back to what they once had. Trust had been broken never to be mended.

Both of them could have just died right then and there. And with the sun starting to peek over the horizon, Jasper could just burn in the sun due to his own inaction and Edward might just roll over and die; wounded, weary and lost.

But this was Ocelot, and zombie or not; the old man's greed and sadism demanded more.

So with a bright grin, he grabbed the giant knife he'd stuck into the living room coffee table and spun it in his hand like a knife expert.

"So," said Zombie Ocelot cheerfully, "Edward, let's see what you spine looks like."

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><p>Sorry for the long delay :D But hoped this was morbid enough for you :) I was a little disadvantage, as I've never felt such misery as Ed and Jazz are going through, so i had to really reach. The next chapter will have Ocelot try to remove Edward's spine, will Ed escape? Let's fine out :D Until then, my next piece of work will be my deadliest warrior story and the Big Hellsing.<p>

ta

Master of the Boot


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